


What He Could Have Said

by EstrangeloEdessa



Category: Toy Story, Toy Story 3
Genre: Fan Art, Gen, General fiction, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstrangeloEdessa/pseuds/EstrangeloEdessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For just a moment, the phone was pressed up against Andy's ear... and on the other end was a trembling, waiting toy, staring at the lit-up screen and thinking of all the things he could say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What He Could Have Said

**Author's Note:**

> A fanfiction I wrote some time ago for _Toy Story 3_. I absolutely loved that movie. I didn't even like like the first two too much, and I'm never fond of sequels, but this movie--wow. Just wow. I was crying nonstop for most of it.  
>  This scene is from the moment at the very beginning, where the toys steal Andy's cell phone to try to get him to notice them. This moment is the one that first made me think, "I am going to love this movie." All the sadness you could see Woody was feeling as he held that phone... I wanted to expand upon it.  
> So I did.  
> And it doesn't live up to the movie at all, bu whatever.

"Hello?"

For just a moment, the phone was pressed against Andy's ear. The boy wrinkled his brow, waiting for someone to talk, rolling his eyes at what seemed to be another prank call. And on the other end was trembling, waiting toy, a simple piece of plastic and cloth, staring at the lit-up screen and thinking of all the things he could say. 

He could say, "Hello, this is your childhood calling. Do you remember me? For years and years, I've remembered you. I thought I was a part of you, a part of your heart or something, a part of your soul. But you've taken a part of your soul and let it grow dusty in a box for ten years."

He could say, "You've got a friend in me. Once, I had a friend in you."

He could even say something with his voice box, say, "Reach for the sky," and Andy would recognize that it, he'd take Woody out and hold him and remember and maybe, just maybe, pull the voice string one last time before placing him back in the toybox.

Or he could pretend to be a real person, anyone, someone getting the wrong number, and Andy would talk to him, in tones of contempt maybe, but he'd talk to him for the first time in years. Or he could cry, "Andy! It's been such a long time!" and Andy would be confused and ask, "Do I know you?" and Woody would say, "We grew up together" or "We were kids together" and Andy would think he was talking to a childhood friend he'd forgotten, and he'd almost be right, almost.

Andy was only seconds from hanging up now, and Woody's mind raced, his cloth heart pulsed. Would it be so bad to speak? Just one word, only one word? He could say, "Hello," but he would be scared and hang up and maybe start to cry, in front of all his friends, because he didn't have the guts to do a simple thing like speak.

He could stop his owner from turning, from walking away for the millionth time, from leaving his childhood behind to gather yet more dust. The phone lit up his face in the box's darkness like the unknown light at the end of a tunnel, light that could be sunshine or a hungry fire, light that could save the toys or condemn them.

All Woody had to do was speak. He could say, "Hello, this is your childhood calling, and I'll miss you." He could say, "I just wanted — we all wanted — to say goodbye before you leave."

He could have said any of these things. But he was only a toy, and toys don't talk, so he didn't.


End file.
